


Whispers

by akeijis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Internal Monologue, Mental Instability, Pre-Canon, Pre-Voltron Post-Kerberos, Prisoner Shiro, Shiro during his time as a Galra prisoner, Stream of Consciousness, Wartime, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akeijis/pseuds/akeijis
Summary: Shiro is struggling to cope with his imprisonment by the Galra empire.





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mylittleskeletons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylittleskeletons/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Kay

On the quieter nights, it was possible to hear footsteps from upstairs, dull and heavy and carrying the weight of creatures that Shiro hadn’t believed were real until a short time ago.  Or maybe it was a long time ago now.  There was no sun to rise and set, signifying the passing of time.  Rather, it was always dimly lit, the light from nearby stars pouring through the window just enough to illuminate his gray cell, the cracks in the stone, and the cracks in himself.  Closing his eyes was the only time there was true darkness. Although the fear of something or someone coming for him while his guard was lowered was too powerful to allow him to really shut them.  

Whispers filled the room around him, words spoken in languages he didn’t understand spoken by creatures he couldn’t fully comprehend.  He was sure the others thought the same of him.  Although to them he was some sort of monster.  A beast, kept separate for their safety until it was time for them to be pit against one another. Until it was time for them to die at his hands. 

His hands,cracked and bruised, rested palms up in his lap as he examined them.  The air here thin and dry, making it hard to breathe and damaging his skin just as much as the weapons they used against him.  Lacerations through his fingers mirrored those on his back, just as painful even though they had come from the atmosphere weathering him down rather than the Galra soldiers who would try to break him.  He’d long since learned to ignore the dried blood that stuck to him everywhere.  There was no point in cleaning it off.  There would only be more.  

The voices from down the hall were getting louder, or perhaps Shiro’s focus was simply shifting to them.  He didn’t understand the words but he didn’t have to.  The tone was clear.  They were telling stories, almost excitedly.  They had each other if nothing else, a new family together down in the bowels of a warship.   He’d been part of one for only moments when this first started.  But he’d stripped himself away by surviving that first fight.  Shiro stared at blank wall across from him, taking in the emptiness of his own cell. 

Amidst the voices, Shiro thought he could hear someone telling him it wasn’t his fault.  That he was doing what he had to to survive. That they were thankful for him.  

Shiro shook his head, dropping his gaze back to his mangled hands.  He wasn’t sure why he was still alive.  He went into each new day, each new fight, telling himself that this would be the last one.  He was no longer going to fight as their champion, no longer going to take life away from these innocent creatures who had done nothing to deserve what was happening to them.  And yet, every day, he was returned back to his cell, fresh blood on his hands and a new notch in his belt.  And, sometimes, new gashes across his back when he’d been unable to finish the fight.  His injured opponent would be dragged away while he was lugged back to the druid’s labs and —

Shiro sighed, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. 

_ No point thinking of it _ , said another of the voices that drifted to him amongst the chatter.  Shiro looked up, a hint of recognition in his eyes.  He knew that voice.  But it didn’t speak again.  It never did much.  None of them did.  That was probably for the best, he told himself.  There were no being here who spoke his language. Those words were nothing more than whispers of the nonexistent wind.  Sighing again, he pushed himself to his feet, making his way to the small window set in the wall opposite the door.  It was too small to even consider trying to slip out of, and even if he could, he’d be left in the empty vacuum of space.  

The view out the window was something out of a dream, a small glimmer of light in this hellish nightmare.  He looked out onto a vast expanse of nothingness littered with stars in every direction. It was incomprehensible to think about just how deep into space he was.  He had no idea which stars or planets he was looking at, or even if they were the same ones he could see from Earth.  He wondered, as he did most days when he looked out this window, if he could still see Earth.  If perhaps they were only still as far as Kerberos.  If he could ever make it home if he somehow got out of here.  

_ You will _ , echoed that same voice again.   _ I haven’t stopped believing you will. _

Shiro closed his eyes tightly.  It hurt to hear that voice and know that its bearer was light-years away.  He could believe all he wanted that if he looked beside him that he wouldn’t be alone, but he knew that simply wasn’t reality.  He was alone here, no matter how much he wished he wasn’t.  Once the moment passed, he opened his eyes again, blinking to focus them and leaning to rest his head against the glass he’d been looking out of. 

He wondered what people back home thought of him now.  Would the Garrison even know what happened to their crew?  Would there be people sent out to search? Would everyone assume he was dead?  Would anyone care?

Of course they’d care. Shiro could pity himself all he wanted, he had earned that by now, but not enough to believe that there were no people on Earth who cared that he was gone.  He was sure that, if no one else, Keith was still thinking of him.  Keith was probably angry, cursing him for breaking his promise to come home safely from this mission.  Shiro couldn’t blame him if he was angry.  He’d broken both those promises, and probably a hundred more.  Promises he’d made to him in the quiet moments they spent together back at the Garrison, when they’d stay up past curfew discussing the everything from the magnitude of the universe to how Keith had done of his simulator test that day.  They were moments he cherished, ones he so desperately clung to simply to keep himself sane here, although he knew that some were already slipping away from him.  He wondered how long him memories would last before his mind betrayed him; how long it would take for him to no longer remember Earth, or the Garrison, or Keith at all. 

His stomach heaved, and it wasn't until that moment did he realize he was crying.  Or as close to crying as he could get.  He was so dehydrated from the stale air that his body couldn't spare the tears, but his eyes still stung as though they were flowing.  

He wanted to go home.  It was a delusion, he knew.  An impossible fantasy which would be easier to let go of than to continue grasping onto for dear life, but he just couldn't loosen his grip. There were people waiting for him.  People who depended on him.  People who thought him more than just a bloodthirsty monster who'd thrown his lot in with these vile creatures who made them fight just to survive.  And Shiro wanted so desperately to see them again.  

He hadn't noticed the silence that had fallen around him, but it suddenly came crashing down on his like a bucket of ice. The voices from down the hall had stopped now, replaced by footsteps in the corridor.  His blood ran cold knowing what that sound meant.  

_ Win today _ , Keith's voice told him, no longer mixed with the chatter but solitary and clear as though he was standing beside him.  Shiro looked down to where he'd heard the voice, but as he knew there would be, there was no one there.  Even so, Keith’s voice spoke again.   _ Win today. And tomorrow. Win again and again.  _

“Champion.”  A voice ran out in the silent air, clear and full of authority and yet still weaker than Keith’s had been.  “It's time.” 

Shiro nodded.  He didn't want to win.  He wanted this to be over, wanted to go home, wanted to die, wanted someone,  _ anyone _ , to help him.  But he knew he had to.  Even if the voice was in his own head, he wasn't going to let Keith down. Not again.  

Shiro glanced once more out the window, at the planets and stars and universe that was laid out before him, before turning his back on it, and stepping towards the door. 

 


End file.
